JANUS-A Harry PotterJames Bond Crossover Adventure
by BT Concepcion
Summary: The first of a trilogy of stories on the truly Dynamic Duo: James Bond and Harry Potter. This takes place in the setting of the Deathly Hallows for Harry and right after "Skyfall" for Bond. Harry is 17 and Bond is 38.


Chapter One

Breakfast Without Tiffany

When you're a MI-6 field agent you don't get a lot of time off. This was probably why James Bond was so thoroughly engrossed in eating flawlessly done cuisine on that sunny morning on August 2nd. Breakfast was always James Bond's favorite meal of the day. That was especially true when it consisted of scrambled eggs done French style with creme, a side of twice kneaded white bread, lightly toasted, practically drowning in blood orange marmalade and butter served with very hot, very black coffee-no sugar. Such meals were heaven in your mouth.

This was his first day of his two-week holiday before his return to active duty and Bond planned to enjoy every moment of it. But suddenly the smell of the eggs and toast mingled with memories of his mother's favorite Parisian perfume. The scent was as much of a ghost as she was after the stores discontinued it. It had been thirty years since her death. He was eight years old and waiting for a bright New Year that never came for him. But she still persisted in his heart and mind. Breakfast was the last meal she had served him before she and Da had both gone off to climb the mountain that took them both away.

Thirty years-and he still remembered.

_We're so sorry for your loss, James._  
_Terrible accident._  
_Are you all right, boy?_

"Yes," James half whispered to himself. "Today I am."

"Sir?"

Bond glanced up startled at the sight of the small, thin ferret faced waiter hovering beside him, coffee pot in hand. He hadn't seen him approach. Getting careless, 007?, he thought, glancing more closely at the young man. The boy was the epitome of an English Waiter with his bulldog brown eyes, matching sweat glossy brown hair and a leave me a tip please sir smile.

"Can I get you something else?"

Bond shook his head, "No, thanks." The waiter walked away, still smiling.

James pulled himself back from his breakfast haze. To make up for his lapse in attention, he took two seconds to thoroughly memorize the server from his unremarkable height to his even more forgettable dark blue trainers. If being unnoticed was the key to being a good waiter then this lad had a long, successful career in the food industry ahead of him' Bond mused.

His practiced eyes quickly surveyed the rest of the pub.  
Not many people here now, he noticed. Besides the waiter, there was an older gentleman behind the weathered oak bar directly in front of him wiping down the wood surface with a damp cloth. That was would be the owner. The old gent checked his watch on his left wrist and then disappeared in the employee bathroom. Two slightly younger men were nursing pints over on the right in the TV corner. They appeared to be having a serious conversation with occasional glances up at the screen. Scotland and London were playing each other in a fortnight. The two teams were rivals, of course, so the talking heads were having a field day.

The game was on last day of Bond's holiday and tickets were hard to come by. That meant coming into headquarters a day earlier than he wanted, but the telly down in the basement was a massive beast. Q would make sure the speakers were incredible and the Guinness served at just the right temperature. Besides, someone had to cheer for the Scots. Bond smiled to himself. Even his stern old house mother May would be listening to the radio for that game.

_Hello. _

Bond's inner senses tingled warmly as he looked to the door at his left. The person walking into the pub was a girl.  
James always noticed any and all females around him. Part of it was his open enjoyment of the opposite sex. James truly loved women whether he bedded them or not. To him women were a great mystery just waiting to be solved; their bodies were like living mazes to lose oneself in over and over again. He found them fascinating. Women reciprocated by becoming equally fascinated with him both inside and outside of the bedroom.

This one was a little young for his tastes. Yet she was pretty in a school girl way. Her soft flawlessly pink face was a smooth oval with a cupid bow mouth and pert nose. Those brown eyes were definitely her best feature, Bond concluded. They fairly radiated intelligence. There was a slight curve at their corners, as if she were acknowledging a silent joke. Wonder where that came from? , he thought. But she definitely needed to do something with her hair. Entirely too wild for polite society. The auburn locks swirled and twisted in every direction like rusty brown wires picking up their own frequencies. Not many cremes could tame that mane. James grinned again and sipped his coffee, watching her.

She reached a hand up to smooth her crinkly bangs from her forehead and sigh. Apparently this was something the girl did a lot, since she did it at least three times in the brief two minutes his eyes were on her. Waiting for someone, maybe, he thought. Shame on the fellow for making her sit in some strange pub, waiting for him.

The door to the kitchens banged open as the young waiter came out from the kitchen holding a cup filled tray up by his head on the left side. Nothing remarkable about that. But James hadn't heard anyone order anything. He looked at the waiter's face. The intense look of hatred in the boy's eyes caught Bond's attention. It was directed at the girl.

The waiter took a step towards her, his free hand suddenly filled with a good sized knife from his pocket. In an instant Bond was up on his feet, across the room and on the waiter, faster than a breath, his right hand automatically covering the hilt of the knife and twisting it up as he stepped behind the assailant. The speed of Bond's attack took the boy by surprise. The tray went flying over at the girl and crashed to the floor. Before the waiter could react any further, Bond had him in a standing rear choke and then tossed down on the floor unconscious.

James quickly checked the side of his neck for a pulse. It was there beating fast and then slowing down as the boy's brain registered his lack of consciousness. A glance over to the other men showed them startled but motionless and staring at the waiter on the floor. Bond straightened up to smile at the girl. Her scared expression was what he expected. But the polished stick she was pointing at him was a bit of a surprise.

Despite the fact that it was a stick instead of a gun, Bond found himself instinctively putting his hands up and backing away. Surprised at his own reaction, he made himself stand still and kept his voice low, soft and reasonable, as if he was talking down a gun man.

"Now, Miss, I was just trying to help," he said, his blue eyes locking on her brown ones. "The gentleman there had a knife and I think he was about to use it on you." He pointed to the silent figure on the floor, hoping that she would glance towards where he was pointing but the girl made no such amateur's mistake. The stick didn't waver and her expression of determination didn't either. Whatever that stick was it made her feel more than safe against a man she'd just seen in take out an assailant in under twenty seconds. That didn't make sense, he thought. But Bond kept his distance far and his hands up.

"I was just trying to help," he repeated.

If anything his words seemed to upset her. "What did you see?" the girl demanded, stick held high.

Bond blinked. A weird question coming from a frightened teenage girl who had barely escaped a knifing in an English pub before lunch, he thought but he answered anyway.

"I told you," he said in a hopefully patient enough tone, "I saw a knife. He had it," nodding at the boy . "I think we need to call the police." She didn't move. "I'm with the military," Bond's hand reached for his naval id, which the Office kept current, just for situations like this one.

Suddenly the girl's eyes widened. James felt his skin crawl. He started to turn.

The girl leaped forward. "Get down!" she yelled , pushing him hard right with surprising strength. James found himself stumbling against a table. He caught himself and turned to see the two men with the pints coming at them. One of them was reaching underneath his thin jacket while the other had the glass beer mug cupped deeply in a raised hand. The young woman waved the stick in a figure eight movement rather like a symphony conductor, Bond thought as he regained his footing spinning to face the danger behind him.

"Stupefy," the girl shouted and pointed the stick at the closest man.

The attacker was suddenly lifted up as if by an invisible hand and slammed backwards into the far wall near the emergency exit, his hand dropped the gun he had pulled. The other man with the mug stepped forward, right into a quick hay maker by Bond. The man's eyes crossed and he joined the still unconscious waiter on the floor.

"I don't want on trouble here!" yelled the bartender. They both looked over at him. The chunky man had come out from the back, his beefy hands up, rag in one and cell phone in the other.

"I just now called the police. I'll tell them that you two didn't start it," he said, reassuringly. "Saw the whole thing from the store-room. Jimmy there pulled a knife. That other buffer tried to nail you with one of my best beer mugs and him-" he sputtered, pointing at the man flat against the far wall. "I don't know what he was trying to do, Miss. But it couldn't have bode you any good, that's for sure."

"Good thing she had a taser," Bond proclaimed loudly over his shoulder. "Right, miss..?"  
The girl looked at Bond, blinked and smiled. "Right."

The stick disappeared up her right sleeve.

"Thank God, Mum made me get one."

Their eyes met again. Bond winked.

"Thank you for your help". she said shyly.

"No problem." He lowered his hands and moved closer to her.

The girl lifted her chin at him.

"And you are?"

_She really does have a nice smile_, Bond thought. He reached out to grasp her proffered hand and brush a kiss across her slightly callused knuckles. Her hand was soft and smelled of Ivory soap.

"My name is Bond, James Bond."

Actually her hair was quite pretty up close, Bond thought. And her nails were just right; short, sensible and polished.

_Put a few more years on her and you'd have something._

She giggled.

"I'm Heromine Granger"

_Was that a blush?_

"I'll take it from here, thanks," a slightly posh voice said behind him.

James turned to see a polished wooden stick flick up in front of his face. There was a red flash of light and then 007, Commander James Andrew Bond fell face down and completely out on the polished wooden floor.

###

"Really, Professor Lupin!"

Hermoine Granger dropped to her knees beside the still figure. "I cannot believe you just stupefied this man. Why did you do that?"

Remus Lupin blinked at her indignant expression. "What did you expect me to do, Miss Granger?" He folded his wand into a hidden pocket. "This man obviously saw entirely too much. And you needn't call me Professor. It's not like I work at the school any more."

"I know," she said sadly. I don't think he saw anything." Hermoine stood back up, inadvertently sniffing her hand. A lingering scent of allspice clung to her fingers.  
"Well, the bartender did over there," Remus said, nodding at the whistling man cheerfully wiping down the bar. Lupin frowned. "He seems pretty happy for someone who just lost half a dining room of oak furniture, a load of nice crockery and considerable amount of ale. Not at all distressed."

"You can blame me for that." Ronald Weasley stepped into the bar wand in hand through the half open back door, his red hair gleaming in the late morning sunlight. "I caught him calling the police. I had to throw the spell silently. But it seems to have done the trick."  
"Obliviate?" Hermione frowned. "You know that spell?"  
Ron smiled. "Always the tone of surprise with you, Mione" He stuck his wand in his back jean pocket. "I pay attention to the good spells."  
"Like ones your brothers dream up?"  
"Maybe." He shrugged. "Actually, I learned Obliviate from you. There's none better than you when it comes down to it. Least, that's what Harry says."  
Hermione's pale cheeks flushed red. "Really? He said that?"  
Ron frowned. "Hey, I said it first. And now I said it directly to you, dinna' I?"  
Hermione smiled shyly. "Yes, you did Ron." She said softly.  
The two stared at each other.  
Lupin cleared his throat loudly.  
They both jumped.  
"Listen, we had better get moving. The Muggle Police might be on their way right now and we don't want any awkward questions; especially now. Let's pull these blinds shut before someone else barges in here."

Hermione turned towards Lupin, smiling. "You're right". She headed over to the windows, stepping over the two unconscious men on the floor as she went. Her hands went to the pull and then stopped.

"Fingerprints", she murmured.

"What?" Ron asked.

"I said, 'fingerprints''

They both frowned at her.

Hermione sighed. She still forgot how little the Magical world knew about the place she grew up.

"Everybody's hands leaves a singular trace behind when they touch a smooth surface," she explained. "The police might call someone in later to examine the scene. If they do, they'll dust for prints on anything we might have touched."

"So?"

"There's a way of identifying the prints, then, Miss Granger?" Lupin asked.

She nodded, looking at Ron. "Especially if certain people had ever, well, I don't know, ever boosted a car or something!"

Ron flushed as red as his hair for a moment, "Hey, now wait a minute. That was Dad's car and no one ever did that print thing-"

"Yes, they did. I read it in the Daily Prophet. Some of the police found the Anglia in a castle in Cornwall after some wanna be wizards saw it in a park outside Hogwarts. They thought it was stolen, so they took fingerprints off of everything."

Hermione flew silent for a moment and then pulled her sweater down over her hands. Her mind started retracing where she had been in the pub.

"I better wipe down everything I touched."

Ron's eyes widened. Then he shrugged. "That was way back in our second year, Mione. I'm sure these Muggle police don't still have that stuff," he looked at Lupin apprehensively. "Do they?"

Lupin's lips pursed in thought. "I think Hermione's quite right. The less evidence we leave behind the better. Otherwise CSI will have for us, eh?"

"CSI?" Ron asked.

"Telly program," said Hermione. "But you'd be amazed what they can find out in real life." She walked briskly over to the table she had been sitting at and started wiping down the table cloth, the glass that had held her ginger beer-was there anything else?

"Hang on," Lupin said. "There's a spell for that."

"There is?"

Ron laughed. "There's a spell for everything."

"Well, there is when you're an Auror," he said moving to the middle of the room. "I never made the program, due to my little monthly visitor but I did pick a few things before they bounced me."

"It's a Celtic spell since the actual gentleman who discovered the modern use of fingerprints was from Scotland" Lupin raised his wand. " Méarloirg a dhíscaoileadh!", he intoned.

The two teens watched as a soft blue light shot from Lupin's wand out over the room then swirled over various objects in the pub. Each item it touched shimmered momentarily.

Lupin waited until the light had completely faded before he lowered his wand.

"That's that."

_Good thing Muggles don't know about that one_, Hermione thought. _The police wouldn't know what hit them._

"What about them?" Ron asked, nodding at the three would be assailants on the floor and in the far corner.

Lupin waved his wand again, "Examina", He cocked his head as if listening.

"Seems like the one you stupefied will be out for at the least another hour. I don't know what your rescuer hit the rest with but they have both got full two hour concussions plus a bruised throat for one and a broken jaw and black eye for the other."

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "How do you do that much damage so fast?

Ron coughed. "Did I tell you how fast I wiped the bartender's mind?

"Sounds like he's a professional," Lupin said.

"He did say he was military," she admitted.

"And there he is," Ron said. "Right as rain, doesn't remember or notice a thing, right Tony?"

The bartender waved back with a dreamy smile on his face. "Right you are, sir."

"Better check his wallet."

Hermione waved her hand, "Accio, wallet." She said. "Been practicing a little wand less magic."

Lupin nodded his approval, "Very smooth."

"Yep, I'd call that a good job," Ron said, smiling at Hermione.

They both ignored him as Hermione caught the soft butter cream leather case in her sweater wrapped hands and magically pulled several cards out to float in front of them.

Lupin caught sight of one and snatched it out of the air.

"Professor, remember don't leave any prints-"

"Bugger that!"

"Professor!" both teens cried in shock.  
"Language," said Hermione primly.

"Be glad me Mum isn't here-" Ron sniggered.

"Shut up, you two!" Lupin snapped.

Their mouths hung open briefly and then shut.

"He's got a Naval Id in that pile, but this one says 'Universal Exports.' That's code name for MI-6."

Hermione gasped. Even Ron blinked. "He's a SPY?"

Lupin nodded. He sent the wallet back into the unconscious agent's pocket on the floor.

"That means we can't leave him here."

"Can't we just wipe his memory?" Ron asked.

Lupin shook his head. "It won't work as well with someone like him. Muggle spies are trained like our aurors to resist any mental tampering. One thing out of place and he'll start to wonder. That means an investigation and we can't afford that, not now with what Voldermort is doing. Get his feet, Ron. I'll get his head. Hermione, Do a Feather Light on him."

"Right, Pro-"

He glared.

"Er, okay." She flicked her fingers and the agent seemed to float on the men's hands. They both carefully maneuvered the agent up and out into alley.

"Ron, Hermione, wait here. I need to go back and collect the memories of your attackers. We need to examine what they recall later and see what they might contain. Someone knew we were having a meeting here and I want to know who that is."

Lupin pulled his wand and went back into the pub.

Ron and Hermione stood in the shadows holding Bond up. They watched the sun creep across the sky as the wind blew stale beer and chips across their faces.

"Gads, he was heavy!" Ron said. "Thanks for that Feather Light, Mione."

"Probably all that extra muscle", she murmured.

Ron stared at her.

She flushed. "I'm just saying he's a heavy that's all. You can tell from the way he handled himself."

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he sighed.

Lupin flashed back behind them in the alley. "I got what we needed. Time to go."

"Where are we going?"

"Let's take him home. I hope he has a fire place." Lupin said. "I have a few flue calls to make."

.

_**. Scottish doctor Henry Faulds_


End file.
